Page 7 of A Pact of Blood

She’s never spoken to me before other than in passing. I have no idea what she might want now.

I dip my head in acknowledgment. “Good evening, Lady Betisse.”

“Good evening, Prince Bastien.” She peers over the growing crowd of dancers. “I hope you enjoyed your dinner.”

“I did,” I lie, still puzzled but maintaining my politeness. “I hope you found it satisfying as well.”

“Yes.” She darts a glance toward me, and a shy smile curves her lips. “If it’s not too forward of me to say, especially given the circumstances, you cut quite a striking figure in black.”

For a second, my mind blanks. She’s…flirtingwith me?

It isn’t as if that’s never happened before. I might be a second-born prince from a country under Dariu’s thumb, but the title still comes with a certain prestige. It’ll only be a fewmore years before my “fostering” here is complete and I can take on a respectable and somewhat high-ranking role in the governing of the empire.

If you can call it governing when it’s always the emperor and his advisors calling the shots.

Still, it doesn’t happen often. My slim frame and restrained attitude hardly offer the same appeals as my foster brothers’ brawnier builds and skills with music and seduction.

The thought sends another sharp pang through my gut. Even if Aurelia was honestly tempted by the two of them, what are the chances she foundmeequally enticing?

No, even in the best of scenarios, it’s most likely she pursued me as well because she could tell Raul and Lorenzo listen to my judgment. I was the one she most needed to sway if she was going to benefit from her dallying beyond a little fleeting pleasure.

It wouldn’t have been so different from this noblewoman’s interest—driven by pragmatism rather than desire.

In situations where we’re both aware of where we stand, I can appreciate pragmatism. I manage to summon a modest smile for Lady Betisse and a reasonably gracious response. “I certainly take no offense to the compliment.”

And I look at her with more considering eyes.

I can’t recall ever noticing her acting as a particularly keen conversational partner, but I can’t say she’s ever come across as especially vapid either. She’s certainly pretty. A month ago, the overture might have made my heart skip a beat.

A month ago. Before Aurelia.

Now, even as I try to focus only on the woman before me, I find myself cataloguing the ways she falls short. Her coloring is too washed out and wan. Her light brown eyeshold no real vigor. Her decision to focus her compliments on my appearance rather than anything more perceptive shows how little she understands me.

The criticism isn’t fair to her. She’s a perfectly nice woman. The woman I’m unwillingly comparing her to doesn’t even exist beyond my imagination, as far as I can tell.

But I can’t dredge up the slightest bit of enthusiasm to invite this lady to join me for a dance, let alone whatever other attentions she might hope I’ll bestow.

The imprint of Aurelia’s touch lingers on my skin, her kiss on my lips. I don’t know how to shake them.

I hold out my hand anyway, making myself extend the invitation. “Join me for a dance?”

Keep up appearances. Don’t let on that anything’s disturbed me.

I’ve partnered plenty of ladies on this dance floor without it meaning anything to either of us.

We follow the melody of the next song, stepping and dipping together. I’m careful not to ease closer than I need to, not to make any overtures I don’t intend to follow through on, and Lady Betisse doesn’t push.

When we part ways and I return to the sidelines, all I feel is relief.

With the dancing figures all garbed in black, they should blend together. Nonetheless, my gaze immediately latches onto Aurelia’s hair gleaming under the chandelier light as Marclinus twirls her beneath his outstretched arm.

Neven comes up beside me, his broad shoulders slightly hunched in his black silk shirt. When I glance at the youngest of my foster brothers, he’s looking in the same direction I was a moment ago, his tan face tight.

He runs his hand through his white-blond hair and glances at me. For all his teenage recklessness, he has enoughsense to keep his voice so low only I’ll hear it over the music. “How are we going to handle her now?”

It wasn’t long ago that I had a talk with him about treating the Accasian princess as an ally rather than an enemy. I don’t think Neven has realized just how intimately entangled the rest of us became with her, but our frustration and pain over recent events won’t have escaped his notice. He knows we expected her to run away with us.

The truth is, I don’t know how to answer that question yet.

---